Chapter 17
NOVA
“Dammit! I asked them to get the twelve-color palettes.” Chloe waves toward the row of chairs at the table, a makeup kit set at each.
“These are great.” I glance at Brooke.
“Kids should pay more for you than for me. I can barely draw a stick person,” she says.
“You don’t need to. You just need a basketball, a star, and a K,” I remind her.
We’re getting ready for Fall Fest, the team’s pep-rally-style event before the Sunday home game. More importantly, it’s Clay’s first game back. The media lost their shit when he signed again with Denver.
Chloe was trying to come up with ideas for a kid-friendly events other than the mini-dunk contest set up at one end of the pavilion outside the stadium.
I suggested face painting, and together, Brooke and I came up with a list of designs.
Mari has even agreed to pass out balloons by the front gates with Emily napping in a stroller beside her.
Do I secretly want to see Clay? Sure. That could be part of it.
The Fall Festival is opening, and fans flood through the gates wearing #BEARFORCE shirts, plus a range of jerseys. I see Miles, Jay, Rookie, and of course Clay represented.
“We need to paint each other’s faces first,” Brooke insists as she drops onto the stool next to me. “It’s advertising the product.”
“What do you want?”
“A K for Kodiaks.”
I start to paint a K on her smooth skin. “Be sure to tag me if you post this to social.”
Brooke snorts, shaking her head until I grab her chin to make her still while I finish filling in the color.
“I’m taking the weekend off,” she says.
“Everything good?” I ask, frowning.
“Just haters. When you put your life online, people feel like they get to have an opinion on every aspect of it.”
“I bet it’s weird having strangers expect you to behave a certain way.”
“Honestly, I can ignore the random trolls who like to shout from behind a keyboard. It’s the actual friends who make things hard.”
I tip her face the other way and start on the opposite side. “Any friends in particular?”
She sighs. “The sorority has a big reunion event coming up that I offered to help plan. But one of the other girls swooped in and grabbed it. Apparently, she said I would make it about me.”
“Not happening. You’re one of the most thoughtful, inclusive people I know.” When I first came to town, Brooke was the first person to make sure I felt like part of the crew.
“She thinks I need to be the center of attention.”
“Maybe you’re just charismatic and the attention comes to you whether you try to grab it or not?” I hold up the mirror, and she inspects my work. The number seven.
“That’s not Jay’s number.”
“No. You told me it was yours when you played as a kid.”
Her lips curve. “You’re the best, you know that? Now, I’ll do you.”
I sit, enjoying the sunshine as she works. We dressed in #BEARFORCE tees, mine purple with white writing and knotted around my waist. Underneath, I’m wearing cropped black tights for comfort, plus white sneakers. My hair is up in a ponytail.
“How’re things going with Clay since you hooked up at the club?” Brooke asks.
My mouth falls open. “I didn’t say we hooked up!”
“It was obvious from every inch of you when you came back from that bathroom. I don’t need the details.”
“Good.”
She frowns. “I was being cool. Of course I want the details.”
I glance around in case there are children within earshot. “He, ah, made a compelling case. With his…”
“His words,” Brooke supplies.
“Exactly.” I flush.
Since the night we hooked up, we’ve been texting. It started with him sending me ideas for tattoos.
Still owe you one, he reminded me.
“But?”
But I’m trying to keep my heart safe. I hope this season, being back with this team, will help him and not hurt him more.
“I need to know that we can get through the hard times. Summer was rough for both of us, and I’m not willing to go through that again. I can’t.”
“I get it. Following your boyfriend to LA only to have him win the championship and get injured and spiral out is the worst. But you’re the one who left.”
My head snaps up.
“You came to be with Mari and Emily, yes? You said you needed space. I’m not saying you shouldn’t have,” she goes on immediately. “A woman can leave for any reason she goddamned wants. But you acted. So, if there’s something you can’t handle, you need to know what that is.”
I’m still turning that over when she finishes her artwork. She passes me the mirror.
“This better not be a purple dick…”
My mouth falls open as Clay’s name and jersey number stare back at me. “Well, that’s not obvious at all.”
“Never hurts to plant your flag.” Brooke grins.
Brooke and I turn our attention to the kids lining up for face painting, purple and black and gold balloons clutched in their hands.
For a while, we’re working side by side.
Miles stops by with lemonades during a short lull in the action. “Here you go, ladies. Nice face, Nova.”
“Thanks.”
The crowd erupts into cheers, and we look toward the entrance.
Clay’s there, surrounded by people. He’s in sweatpants and a long-sleeved shirt, his Kodiaks hat on backward. But as I watch, he sheds each item, stripping down to swim trunks.
“You need a towel for that drool?” Brooke offers, and I wave her off.
“What’s he doing?” I ask as I notice that he’s standing next to a tank of water.
“Some charity thing. The kids wanted to dunk Coach, but he wasn’t approved for that medically. So, Clay volunteered.”
I watch him sit in the chair, and Kyle goes up with a ball.
“Donation first,” Clay calls.
“I’d pay a lot for this.” He passes a check to the attendant, then chucks the ball at the dunk spot.
It doesn’t work. Clay grins.
Kyle goes up to the lever and hits it with his fist.
The crowd gasps and hollers, as many exchanging uneasy looks as laughing.
For the next few kids, I have one eye on the dunk tank and the other on my work.
“Can you take the next one?” I ask Brooke under my breath as I see Clay get out of the tank and motion that he’s done for the day.
“Sure thing.”
I grab a towel from my supplies and find my way over to the dunk tank.
Clay’s still only wearing swim trunks, and the water drips off his perfect form.
“Hi,” I say, holding out the towel.
“Hey.” He grins as he takes it. The fabric is woefully insufficient for his huge body. “You look good.”
His gaze settles on my cheek before coming back to my eyes.
“So do you.” A flush crawls up my face as I think of the last time we were together.
My skirt up around my chest.
His tongue doing wicked things between my thighs.
“Gonna get a win, Clay?” someone calls from the crowd.
“Hell yeah.”
I glance back over my shoulder, remembering we’re in public with thousands of people. “I, ah, should get back.”
Before he can answer, I turn on my heel, tripping as I make my way back to the face-painting stand.
“You guys are stupid cute,” Brooke says.
We’re back working for a few minutes—I’ve finished two Ks, three jersey numbers, and a special-request purple dinosaur when a hundred-dollar bill in the jar makes me snap my eyes up.
Clay stands by my chair. It’s hard to keep any distance.
“Take a seat,” I offer.
Clay looks at the kid-sized chair.
“Yeah, never mind,” I tell him.
I step on the chair instead, so we’re eye level. He holds out a hand for the paints, and I set them in his palm. Then I go to work, outlining my design.
“I see you traded painting canvas for kids this week,” he comments.
“Only for today. I’m taking over Harlan’s garage. This gallery in New York that was interested in offering me a show after I did the Kodiaks mural last year had a cancellation and said they could fit me in for a solo show before Christmas.”
“That’s big.”
“It is.” I shift on my feet, excitement bubbling up. “I thought I already had most of what I’d need for the show, but the past couple of days have been super productive so now I’m going to have to pick favorites. Harlan’s going to have to sell a car just so I have room to store the canvases.”
Clay turns it over. “You could rent a space.”
It never occurred to me to have a dedicated space outside of a house. “That’s a good idea. But…”
“I know you can afford it.”
“You’re right.” Sometimes it still feels strange to have money in my bank account from the Kodiaks mural and the handful of jobs since. I can take care of myself and have more options than ever.
“I’ll help you look, if you want. Have you thought about finding an art agent while you’re at it? It sounds like you’re busy enough you could use someone to field offers,” he says.
I nod. “I’ve gotten a few inquiries, but I’ve been too nervous to accept them. Work is steady right now, but who’s to say that will continue?”
“It’ll continue, Pink. Once someone gets a taste of you, they can never get enough.”
My skin tingles from his words.
He’s quiet for a minute, the sounds of kids hollering and water splashing and music filling the space between us.
“You’re being very patient,” I observe as I work.
“Good things are worth waiting for.”
I brace my hand against his skin as I paint, the simple skin-to-skin contact making my pulse scramble.
I’m painting a bear on his face. One with beautiful detail and blue eyes.
It keeps my brain occupied while I try not to lose myself in his closeness, his words.
“How does it feel to be playing again?” I ask.
“I’m trying not to expect too much from it. Just putting in the work. Trying to prove it’s going to be different this time around.” He shifts on his feet. “I also scheduled an appointment with my therapist.”
I inhale sharply. “That’s great! I know talking to Kat’s helped, but—”
“How’d you know I talked to Kat about basketball?”
Caught out, I go back to my palette for more color. “Um. Because you’re siblings. You talk.”
“You told her to check on me after you left,” he accuses.
“I didn’t tell her, I mentioned that maybe you could use company for your ring ceremony.” I turn back to him, squaring my shoulders. “Just because I left doesn’t mean I stopped caring about you. Or thinking about you.”
His nostrils flare as the words sink in. “Guess it’s hard to be mad about that.”
Once I’m finished, I hold up a mirror for him. “Do you like it?”
Clay stares me down, his eyes flicking between mine and my mouth. He’s huge and tattooed and gorgeous, his dark eyes laced with gold.
His jaw twitches, and I want to stroke it, but I can’t move, can’t do anything but stare into his eyes.
“Feel lucky today, Wade?” a fan hollers.
Clay grabs my waist with both hands, his thumbs crossing over my bare navel as his mouth descends to claim mine.
It’s not like the first time we kissed.
It’s better because I know him. The light and the dark, the good and the bad.
“Now I feel lucky,” he murmurs when he pulls back and heads for the stadium.